


All Our Fights End In A Tie

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Banter, Danger Kink, Extra Treat, Flirting, Hero/Villain, Identity Porn, Inappropriate Erections, Lawyers, Light Bondage, M/M, Secret Identity, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-11 01:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11703843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: It's entirely possible that Jake enjoys getting tied up a little too much. Which wouldn't be a problem, if he wasn't moonlighting as a superhero and his nemesis didn't keep tying him to chairs.





	All Our Fights End In A Tie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prinzenhasserin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/gifts).



 

Shadow Man's gloved hands are cold against his wrists, and Jake instinctively jerks away from the touch.

"Easy now, kid." The grip tightens, the gesture an implicit threat that contradicts the amused reassurance in his tone as Shadow loops the rope firmly around Jake's forearms and makes sure that Jake is well and truly immobile in the chair. His ankles are bound to the chair's legs, arms trapped behind his back, and whenever he strains against the rope, it seems to get tighter. Doesn't mean he's going to stop trying.

"Don't call me that," he snaps back, annoyed.

He's twenty-nine and not a goddamn kid. He's not new at the hero gig either, never mind that his current predicament suggests otherwise. But ever since Shadow managed to unmask him during one of their clashes a few months ago, he's taken to calling him _kid_ in that insufferably smug voice, and it's grating on Jake's nerves. The fact that it's clearly getting under his skin is probably the whole reason Shadow keeps doing it. Maybe he'd quit if Jake stopped letting it get a rise out of him. Easier said than done.

Shadow rounds the chair, admiring his handiwork. "You'd rather I call you Jake? Have you finally given up on the pretense of keeping your secret identity a secret, then?"

Jake grinds his teeth and lets the dig slide. "I'd rather you didn't call me anything, but Justice Fighter will do."

He tests the bonds again, pulling at his hands now that they're out of the other man's line of sight. The rope feels flexible, but it's treacherous, because every tiny bit of wiggle room he wins ends up costing him double, and his feet start tingling as the rope tightens.

Shadow snorts. "Yeah, I don't think so. It's a stupid name."

"Says the guy who calls himself 'Shadow Man'."

Jake glares and tries to move his legs inconspicuously, but the only thing that happens is that his arms are pulled back further. The rope feels oddly soft against his skin. Even when it's uncomfortably tight, it's not chafing; firm and restrictive but not... unpleasant. And wow, yeah, that's maybe not a line of thought Jake should continue. His superhero suit is ridiculously form-fitting, as superhero suits tend to be, and the position with his thighs pulled apart isn't helping conceal his unfortunate boner.

Thankfully, Shadow appears to be distracted by the banter. White teeth flash in the dark as he shoots Jake a quick grin. "The bloggers came up with that, not me. What's your excuse?"

The truth is, Jake and his sister Maureen coined the alias 'Justice Fighter' after playing around with an online superhero name generator. There may or may not have been alcohol involved. Somehow it stuck. It's not something Jake plans on sharing with Shadow Man, or anyone, ever. He has sworn Maureen to secrecy about the origin of the name, and by now Jake has even stopped wincing when he sees Justice Fighter memorabilia in the shops. It's not that bad. Well, okay, it really is that bad, but it could be worse. Mr. Heroic, for instance, has definitely drawn an even shorter stick.

Jake shrugs – a movement that once again makes his bonds go tighter and his dick grow harder.

"I like the name," he lies.

Shadow takes it in his stride. When he leans in to quickly check the firmness of the ropes again, Jake wishes he could cross his legs. He sends a prayer to the patron saint of superheroes in compromising positions that the night and the dark blue of his suit will conceal enough.

Apparently satisfied, Shadow rises and pats Jake's shoulder in a condescending manner. "Well, kid. Have fun getting out of those. Might take you a while. I wish I could stay around and chat, but you know how it is. Crime waits for no one, and those banks won't rob themselves."

It's such a clichéd supervillain line that Jake has to actively stop himself from answering the grin Shadow levels at him with one of his own. Then Shadow's gone, a dramatic vanishing act that kinda fits his name, and Jake is left to figure out how to free himself while not letting himself be distracted by the arousal that curls in his stomach every time he moves so much as an inch. He tries, anyway.

*

People can't seem to stop commenting on the angry red marks on his wrists. The rope might have been tantalizingly soft and silky, designed not to cut into skin, but getting out took a lot of wiggling about, and at some point even the softest material will chafe.

"What the hell, Jake?" Maureen asks with a horrified expression when he bleary-eyed reaches for the coffee pot in the morning. After he's given her a brief run-down of last night's rather embarrassing showdown with Shadow, she tuts disapprovingly like he got himself captured on purpose. Then she throws some kind of antiseptic salve at him, and they both fall silent when Maureen's latest girlfriend stumbles into the kitchen.

Jake's boss Janine, senior partner at Frey-Finch-Laughton where Jake works as a third-year associate, fixes him with cool appraisal and tells him that he might want to find a better tailor. Her eyes linger on where the sleeves of his suit reveal bruises and barely healed red lines, and Jake feels the heat rising to his face. He can't exactly tell her how he acquired the injuries, and he doesn't want to think too hard about which conclusion she's come to by herself.

Thankfully, Janine is tactful enough that she doesn't feel the need to discuss it any further. Jake only wishes the same could be said for Declan Miller, opposing council on their current case and all-around asshole, who of course zeroes in on the marks, smelling blood like the shark he is.

When he shakes Jake's hand, his grip wanders up his forearm, turning his wrist upwards and lightly brushing over the bruises.

"Maybe you should read up on safe bondage practices," he says, in lieu of a greeting. It's about fifty shades of inappropriate, even if the feeling that churns in Jake's stomach is not solely embarrassment.

"You're about five words away from a sexual harassment suit, man," Jake tells him, half-serious. He pulls his hand away with more force than necessary, wincing in pain.

Declan snorts. "Just offering helpful advice, Jake. It's not like I was suggesting that you'd let me tie you up." He gives Jake a blatant once-over that somehow conveys the sense that Jake should _want_ Declan to tie him up with those pinstripe silk ties of his that probably cost more than Jake earns in a month but, at the same time, that Declan wouldn't stoop as low as to actually do it.

Jake wonders if showing one of New Hareton's top lawyers the finger would get him fired or promoted. The former, probably. He's still contemplating if it might be worth it when Janine cuts in.

"When you're done antagonizing my associate, can we maybe get started, Declan? Or else I can start billing you the time I'm wasting here, if you've got a few thousand dollars to burn," she suggests, nonplussed, and for the next eight hours, Jake is too busy maneuvering a legal minefield to remember the adrenaline rush of being trapped and how the ropes had felt moving against his skin.

*

Another night, another botched attempt to stop Shadow Man.

It's not like he loses all their fights. It's probably about 50:50 overall. Maybe even 60:40 in his favor. More often than not, he stops Shadow's dastardly plans, a mixture of flashy high-profile heists to satisfy his ego and stealthy contract work for all kinds of shady businessmen. Occasionally, Jake even manages to apprehend the guy and drop him off at the NHPD. It's not his fault that Shadow never stays locked up for long.

Sometimes he messes up big time, though, and then he ends up with a gun digging into his ribcage as he's led through dark corridors at the empty office building of Flare Labs. As coincidence will have it, they're one of his firm's biggest clients. He's been here in the daylight, when the brightly lit floors are abuzz with scientists rushing about between the labs and the conference rooms and corporate personnel is busy behind the glass doors of their sun-flooded offices.

It's like a whole different building at night, when the dim safety lighting casts strange, elongating shadows and the emptiness feels alien and oppressive.

Jake almost stumbles when Shadow gives him an ungentle push. He wonders if he can drop down quickly enough to kick the villain's legs out from under him and disarm him before he can pull the trigger. Doubtful.

"Bad timing, kid. I can't have you messing up this gig for me." Shadow seems more tense than usual, the banter falling off the playful side, and the gun is an insistent reminder that this isn't fun and games. Right. One of _those_ jobs, then. It's not a surprise – a lot of Flare's inventions can be weaponized, and there are all kinds of people trying to get their hands on them, from foreign warlords to private corporations subsidizing conflicts all over the world.

Jake swallows. "What, you gonna shoot me now?" The bravado in his tone can't conceal that his voice is shaking.

It only makes him more apprehensive when there isn't an immediate response, like Shadow is actually deliberating putting a bullet into him.

"How about you don't do anything stupid enough that I have to?"

Okay, yeah, he can definitely do that. He gives a silent nod and swallows the snarky comeback, sensing that it wouldn't be well-received.

Shadow pushes him into one of the smaller offices on the executive floor and motions to the cushy chair.

"Over there. You know how it goes."

Jake cautiously sits, waiting. Shadow keeps the gun trained on him while he grabs a roll of duct tape from the desk. It takes a moment too long until the realization of what he's planning to do with it sinks in, and when it does, Jake groans. "C'mon, man, you can't be serious?"

He barely manages to finish the protest before Shadow tears off a generous length of tape with his teeth and fixes Jake's right hand to the chair's armrest. It's sticky and uncomfortable, and Jake can't move his wrist without it pulling painfully at his skin, which is probably the whole point. It's more or less instinct that makes him reach for it with his free hand, trying to pull it off, but Shadow captures the wrist in an iron grip, forcing it back down.

"Jake." Narrowed green eyes fix him through the mask. "Don't push your luck."

Firm fingers hold him in place. The thin leather of Shadow's gloves is soft against his skin and so much warmer than the other night. He squeezes once, just this side of painful, but as the grip loosens the touch lingers for a moment, gently rubbing against Jake's pulse point.

The sensation is distracting. It makes Jake momentarily forget about the gun, forget about the fact that Shadow isn't Madam Octopus and only has two arms, so he can't possibly told him down, tie him up and keep the weapon on him at the same time. But by the time Jake's brain reboots, the opportunity to attack has passed and his second wrist is firmly fixed to the chair as well.

He hates the sticky, stifling feeling of tape against skin, but then Shadow bends down, both of his hands covering the makeshift bonds, and there's something about being held down this way that makes a different kind of excitement stir in Jake's gut, the kind that has nothing to do with fearing for his life.

Shit. This is not the time. He swallows and turns his head aside when Shadow leans in.

"I'm gonna do your legs next. I suggest you don't try to kick me, unless you want to know how it feels to be shot in the knee." The threat should be enough to wipe out all traces of arousal, but warm breath fans across Jake's neck, raising goosebumps down his arms, and the steady pressure on his wrists grounds him.

Then Shadow drops to his knees, and Jake is torn between a fresh spike of want at the appealing visual and absolute mortification because it brings the guy at eye level with Jake's crotch and he only needs to look up front to notice what kind of an effect their little impromptu bondage session had on Jake. _Please don't look_ , he thinks, while Shadow busies himself taping Jake's ankles to the foot of the chair, wrapping the tape around the wheels several times.

Jake doesn't kick him, doesn't struggle against his hold; he just wants this to be over as quickly as possible so Shadow will stand up without taking a good look around.

"That's a good boy," Shadow says, all sarcastic condescension.

Jake grinds his teeth and tries to focus on the tone rather than the words, happy when he manages to muster the appropriate level of disdain in response and keep the flare of arousal at bay. "I'll show you what a _good boy_ I am. The minute I get rid of that stupid tape, I'll kick your ass and drop you off with the cops."

Shadow finishes immobilizing Jake's feet and stands, putting enough distance between him and where Jake's cock strains against the supple leather of his suit that Jake finally breathes a little easier again.

Brushing himself off, Shadow takes up his gun again and re-holsters it.

"Funny, the way you talk I'd almost think you hated getting tied up… even when evidence suggests otherwise." He lets his eyes pointedly travel down to Jake's groin and back up, a wry half-smile on his lips, and all hopes that he might have missed Jake's involuntary reaction drain away. Embarrassment burns on Jake's cheeks, and for once he doesn't have a razor-sharp comeback ready, caught in a flush of shame.

It doesn't get better when Shadow adds, "I thought it was a fluke at the warehouse, but apparently this is a recurring thing for you. I'm not sure if I should be flattered or disturbed."

Great. Wonderful. So apparently he did notice it the last time after all; he just chose not to comment on it. Anyone else, Jake would be inclined to believe it was kindness that made him let it pass, but with Shadow, it's more likely that he's just been biding his time until he could use it against him. Dick.

"It's just adrenaline. Doesn't mean a thing." He attempts to sound cool and unaffected rather than sullen, but there's not an ounce of nonchalance in his tone or his expression, and it's not something Shadow is going to miss.

"Good to know. I mean, it would be kind of inconvenient for a superhero to enjoy getting tied up by the bad guys, right?"

If he had his hands free, Jake would bury his face in his palms. Or punch Shadow. Maybe both. As it is, he can only groan and squeeze his eyes shut, his head dropping backwards. He jumps when there's suddenly something on his face, a sticky, tingly sensation again his lips and an unpleasant smell in his nose. His eyes fly open to reveal Shadow bent over him, wrapping a piece of tape over his mouth and cheeks, and the moment to deliver a good verbal response has passed.

He tries to convey all the contempt he feels for Shadow, his innuendo, and the situation in general with a dark look, but all it earns him is a chuckle.

"Well, I'm happy to be of service, I guess. See you around, kid." Another amused, pointed once-over, and then he's gone.

*

He barely manages to free himself before the first scientists arrive at Flare, narrowly avoiding being seen at the scene of the crime. Dropping by home, he takes a quick shower to rub the last stubborn remains of tape from his sticky, reddened wrists and throws on a suit.

It's 9:07 by the time he arrives for their court date, and he hurries through the aisle with the burning awareness that every eye in the room is turned on him. Most of the spectators are different levels of annoyed or bored. Jake's client looks apoplectic. Judge Warner is giving him the _I'm contemplating feeding your insides to my dogs_ stare.

On the other side of the aisle, Declan Miller sprawls lazily in his chair like he has all the time in the world. "Now that Mr. Sharman has deigned to grace us with his presence, maybe we can begin. Unless he has other pressing matters to attend to. We wouldn't want to cut into his busy schedule," he drawls.

Jake turns to Judge Warner. "I'm sorry, Your Honor. Something important came up."

She just nods, clearly unimpressed by his apology.

Too soft for her to hear, Declan mutters, "I bet it did."

When Jake's head snaps around to glare at him, Declan raises an eyebrow and makes a show of looking at Jake's hands. His wrists, to be exact, where the red, irritated skin is peeking out from underneath his cuffs.

Jake grinds his teeth and turns away, well aware that Declan is laughing at him.

*

Life goes on.

Declan wipes the floor with him in court that day but they still win the lawsuit. Janine commends Jake's excellent research and gives him a raise.

Maureen splits from her girlfriend and starts dating a bartender, who Jake thinks is moonlighting as Madam Octopus's sidekick.

Mr. Heroic is voted the most popular superhero of the year. (Jake's not bitter. He isn't. Third is a perfectly respectable result for Justice Fighter. He just doesn't get why someone like Fireflash who accidentally set the town hall on fire last month places ahead of him.)

Point is, a lot of things happen and there are no further altercations with Shadow Man and no more instances of Jake getting tied up and embarrassing himself by growing a boner. Small mercies, etc.

*

The next time he does get captured and tied up, Shadow Man is with him again – because of course he is. The only difference is that this time, it's Vanquisher's henchmen (multiple, because apparently Vanquisher isn't satisfied with a single sidekick these days) doing the tying up, and instead of standing over him with a gloating look on his face and a smartass jibe on his tongue, Shadow is sitting behind him on the dirty floor, the two of them tied together with coarse rope that cuts harshly into Jake's wrists.

Jake pulls on the bonds with increasing frustration and urgency, the scratchy material of the ropes burning against his skin. There's nothing even remotely sexy about it. Panic claws up his chest and tears of pain and exertion sting in Jake's eyes. He knows how Vanquisher kills his enemies – everyone's seen the picture of what was left of Queen Bee when he was through with her on the front page of the New Hareton Herald last year – and that's not the way Jake plans to die, not if he can help it.

He figures they've got ten, maybe fifteen minutes until Vanquisher joins them, and things are only going to go downhill from there. He gives his arms a sharp tug, pain shooting from his shoulder-blade down his spine and a string of frustrated curses escaping his mouth.

At his back, Shadow doesn't seem to feel the same kind of panicked insistence to work himself free. Despite their dire situation, he's relaxed enough to banter. "What's wrong? I thought this kind of thing got you going. Or is that just when I'm the one tying you up?"

A flash of irritation temporarily distracts Jake from his fears. He frowns and half-turns his head. "God, you're so full of yourself. Not sure if you noticed, but Vanquisher is the kind of guy who kills first and ask questions later. I don't get off on someone actually planning to murder me in a painful way."

There's a moment of silence, and when Shadow finally responds, he sounds bemused, like he's considered Jake's words and isn't quite happy with what they imply. "I feel like you're not taking me seriously as a villain."

His tone is light, but Jake knows he's not really joking. Great. If there's ever been a less opportune moment to spend time soothing his nemesis' ego, it's probably now. Jake rolls his eyes heavenwards – a gesture that's sadly lost on Shadow because with the way they're bound together, neither of them can possibly see the other's face.

"I take you plenty serious, especially when you're stealing chemicals that are used to power weapons of mass destruction." Yes, he's still bitter about that. "I just don't think you actually want me dead."

It's a statement, but it comes out a little too much like a question. He can't see it when Shadow shrugs in response, but he feels the movement against his back. "No, I guess I don't. I mean, who else could I tease about the inappropriate boner they get whenever I kick their ass?"

"Go fuck yourself, dude." He gives the bonds tying them together a vicious little twist. It makes his wrists ache and it does nothing to loosen the rope, but he assumes it's as painful to the other man as it is to him and that's reason enough.

Low, rumbling laughter makes Shadow's entire body shake. "I'm not even gonna respond to that. That's way too easy an opening," he says, making sure that Jake hears the unspoken _wouldn't you rather I fuck you?_ anyway.

Jake's about to either make a smartass remark or die of mortification when he feels the ropes fall away and he's suddenly free. "What —"

Shadow is already standing, watching with a crooked smile as Jake scrambles to his feet. "Don't you remember, kid? I'm good with ropes."

And. Yeah. He remembers. He wishes he didn't, but he remembers. Judging by the way Shadow looks at him, amused and smug and a little predatory, he knows exactly the direction Jake's thoughts have taken.

Jake clears his throat and looks away, frowning at the door their captors disappeared through too many minutes ago. It won't be long now until they're back with their boss in tow, and Jake doesn't think either of them should stick around to wait and see what happens after.

"What now?"

"Now you go your way and I go mine, and no one winds up in a barrel of acid down by the docks. I'd count it as a win, if I were you."

Jake frowns. "Not dying is not actually a success story, you know. Vanquisher still needs to be stopped. You could help me."

Apparently, Jake has missed his calling as a stand-up comedian, because Shadow throws his head back and laughs. "If that's your attempt to sell me the hero gig, it's more pathetic than I thought."

He feels a headache coming on. Now that most of the immediate terror has dissipated, the annoyance is taking over and he remembers that even though Shadow might not be the kind of villain who enjoys cutting off superheroes' limbs and stuffing them into barrels, he's still a jerk. "I wasn't— Did you forget that Vanquisher's guys just captured you? I thought this might qualify as one of those 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' situations."

"By the same logic, I could ally myself with the Vanquisher against you," Shadow points out and, yeah, there's that. Jake thinks it's probably unlikely, but he doesn't really want to put the theory to the test. "But I'll do you a favor. I'll steal that supersonic blaster Vanquisher was gonna use. I'm afraid that's all the heroics you can expect from me."

"Okay." It's better than nothing. A moment later, the flaw in that plan dawns on Jake. "Wait, when you say 'steal', you mean 'keep it for yourself'?"

"That's how stealing usually works. But as you pointed out before, better me than Vanquisher, right?"

That's not quite what Jake had said, but when it comes down to it, it's not exactly wrong.

*

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to figure it out.

In fact, he doesn't figure it out until the morning when Declan arrives in a sour mood with his arm in a sling.

"Tennis injury," he tells Janine with a bland, fake smile, and Jake rolls his eyes because it's such a typical rich guy thing. He'd make a joke about it, except Declan is ignoring him for once – no teasing, no witty quips, no inappropriate comments. It's weird and confusing and Jake tells himself he doesn't feel disappointed, doesn't miss the attention Declan normally gives him.

It's only when he's on his way home that he remembers last night's fight with Shadow Man, and how one of Jake's punches, uncommonly well-aimed, had sent him stumbling backwards, tumbling into a pile of crates with a force that made it topple over. One of the crates had come crashing down, hitting Shadow in the shoulder. Jake remembers the pained shout, and the way Shadow had gingerly moved his arm afterwards before slinking off into the night.

The same arm that Declan had worn in a sling today.

It could be coincidence. Maybe Declan really got hurt playing tennis yesterday. Maybe the way he'd been suggestively eyeing Jake's bruises was really just inappropriate flirtation. Maybe Jake is just imagining things when he compares the amused condescension in his voice to Shadow's smug supervillain one-liners and finds them remarkably similar.

Maybe — Maybe Jake is grasping at straws.

Declan Miller is Shadow Man.

Fuck. How could he not have realized this months ago?

He's tempted to go to the Miller-Hartford office building, storm into Declan's swanky office with the floor-to-ceiling fuck-me windows, the signed Hollywood memorabilia on the shelves and the Mondrian print on the wall (which, shit, likely isn't a print after all) and confront him. But frankly, Declan's secretary Nathalie scares him a little and he doesn't want to induce her wrath by barging in without an appointment. Which is probably silly because Declan is an actual _supervillain_ and Nathalie is a corporate secretary, but out of the two, Jake knows who he'd rather face down in a fight — and it's not Nathalie, who would crush him like a bug with her stilettos and her wit.

Besides, it would feel weird, Jake Sharman going after Declan Miller to rub in that he knows all about Declan's less than lawful nightly activity.

No, they're going to have that showdown the way it's supposed to be, in costume.

*

Like so many things in Jake's life as a superhero, the confrontation doesn't exactly go as planned.

His plan was pretty vague, anyway. Surprise Sha— Declan. Now that he finally knows who's hiding under the mask, at least he doesn't have to use the inane supervillain name anymore. Anyway. Surprise Declan at one of his heists. Kick his ass. Smugly tell him that he's in on his secret. Absolutely don't let on that he only figured it out yesterday. Possibly imply that he's known for a while, and just waited for an appropriate moment to reveal it.

Solid plan in theory. It goes out of the window the moment Declan arrives with Vanquisher's supersonic weapon that blasts Jake on his ass and knocks him out. He wakes up tied him to a chair (seriously? _again_?!), with Declan on his way out to hurry off and steal whatever priceless artifact he came to steal. 

The handcuffs Declan used this time (too rushed for fancy knotwork, clearly – Jake tells himself that this is not something to be disappointed about) allow no wiggle room, the metal cool against Jake's skin but warming quickly. It's hard not to get a little distracted by it.

"Hey," Jake yells when Declan is almost out of the door. "So you're just leaving, then?"

Declan doesn't even bother facing him, just calls over his shoulder, "That's how it goes, kid."

"You're so full of shit!"

That, at least, seems to be enough to make him stop and turn around. "Excuse me?" He sounds a little scandalized, like he can't quite believe a captured superhero has the nerve to talk back like that instead of sitting and suffering heroically.

"You know what's not 'safe bondage practice'? Leaving the guy you tied up alone in an empty warehouse and making him work himself free. You don't get to do this shit and then be surprised when I show up with bruises tomorrow."

Declan's lips stretch into a slow, satisfied smile as he approaches him. "Finally figured it out, then, did you? Took you a while."

"Yeah, well, the costume makes you look taller."

Jake is mostly saying it to be an annoying little shit, but Declan _does_ look tall in costume, especially when he's standing right in front of him, so close that Jake has to crane his neck to look him in the eye. It's ridiculous power play, right out of the supervillain rule book, 'Chapter One: How to Intimidate A Hero', but Jake grudgingly has to admit it works. He's feeling properly intimidated. Well, aroused and intimidated.

Declan has stripped off his black cowl to reveal his face, amusement dancing in his eyes and his usually slicked-back hair a tousled mess, loose dark brown strands falling onto his forehead. It's a damn good look on him, better than the tailored suits and the expensive ties, the immaculate rich boy lawyer attitude he wears with a natural ease like he was born with it.

He arches an eyebrow and crosses his arms, giving Jake a slow, deliberate once-over. "So, what do you suggest we do about it?"

"Huh?"

"About leaving you behind, all tied up as you are?"

Jake licks his lips, quick and nervous, trying to gather his wits. It's a loaded question if he's ever heard one. The right answer, of course, is: _Cut me loose, hand over Vanquisher's weapon, and maybe I'll be nice and refrain from dragging your ass to jail so we can both go our separate ways and forget any of this ever happened._

But Jake feels dizzy and overheated, his hard cock an insistent pressure demanding to be acknowledged, and Declan is looking at him with a hunger burning in his eyes that would make Jake weak-kneed if he was standing up.

He lets his legs fall open, spreading his knees as far as the cuffs allow, the muscles in his thighs straining. The bulge in his groin becomes more prominent, and a rush of heat runs through Jake when Declan's eyes flicker down. Jake arches his head back to look up at Declan, knowing how it must look from the other man's perspective. A perfunctory shift in position that will nevertheless exude an air of submission – long column of throat exposed, his body a sinuous curve stretched out before Declan.

The metal of the cuffs rattles as Jake moves, the low sound echoing through the empty warehouse. "You could stay," he suggests. "Maybe teach me all those safe practices you've been harping on about?"

For all the deliberate flirtation, he still jerks away when Declan reaches for his face, instinctive fear taking over his lizard brain before he can squash it. Declan's smile turns mocking, like he knows exactly what Jake is thinking, and embarrassment briefly overshadows Jake's arousal.

Declan's fingers – no gloves this time, just bare skin on skin – brush his cheek when he pulls off Jake's mask. Jake turns his face into the touch, fighting against the urge to close his eyes. A callused thumb drags heavily over his lower lip and Jake's mouth falls open, lightly catching the digit with his teeth. He's pleased when Declan's pupils go wide and dark.

"Hmm. I guess that break-in can wait a little while longer." The usual cool smoothness is missing from his voice, turning it rough and breathless, a sound that goes right to Jake's cock.

He smiles and chooses not to remind Declan that they have a deposition first thing in the morning, and there won't be any time left for complicated heists if Jake manages to distract him for an hour or two. And oh, he does plan on _thoroughly_ distracting Declan.

Superheroes are supposed to stop villains from doing villainous things. No one specified _how_ they're supposed to stop them. If Shadow Man isn't pulling a job tonight because he's... otherwise occupied, well, then Justice Fighter has heroically upheld law and order, keeping the good people of New Hareton City and their belongings safe for another day. That's what counts, after all.

End.


End file.
